


Something Boring

by peachfloat



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Murder, Blood and Violence, Gun Violence, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachfloat/pseuds/peachfloat
Summary: Phobos is tired of working for Doc B. Doc B isn't too happy about it.





	Something Boring

_“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?”_ He screamed, waving the gun wildly. _“I’VE DONE EVERYTHING YOU ASKED! You’ve taken everything from me! My planet, my people! My wings, my life, MY NAME! What else do you want?!”_

The doctor watched calmly as He held the gun aimed directly at him, Hogan standing wide-eyed and tense by his side.

_“ANSWER ME!”_

Neither the doctor nor Hogan had a response.

_“I have nothing left… I have nothing left and it’s all your fault!”_ His hands shook a bit before putting the gun against his own head. _“I’m not doing SHIT for you anymore.”_

Hogan flinched, took one step towards Him, hand reaching out for Him before freezing in place again. The doctor continued to stand calmly, hands held behind his back, watching the whole spectacle.

“You cannot self-erase.” The doctor stated matter-of-factly.

_“The FUCK I can’t!”_

He screwed his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger, as if he could brace himself for a bullet through his brain.

_Click._

Gasping, he ripped the gun down from his temple. His whole body shook, open mouth sucking air through his filter. He opened his eyes, and despite the doctor’s face being obscured by his gas mask, He could feel his wicked smile.

“You cannot self-erase.” The doctor repeated.

A moment, a beat in time, before He raised the gun again, aimed square at the doctor’s chest.

_Click click click click._

Hot tears spilled over His cheeks as the doctor stepped towards him, paying no mind to the weapon still pointed directly at him.

“In fact, you cannot erase at all,” he continued, slowly stepping closer, hands still held behind himself. “Just a little programming I’ve made. Helps keep people like you in check.”

The doctor stood in front of him now, point blank in front of His weapon.

_Click. Click click._

“You see--” the doctor took one more step forward, pressing his sternum directly against the barrel of the gun. “You’re a Runner.”

_Click. Click._

“Runners run.” The doctor slowly wrapped his hand around His wrist.

_Click._

“Runners don’t get to use my weapons.” Wrapping his other hand around the barrel of the gun, the doctor calmly pulled it out of His grasp, yet continued holding His wrist gently, simply keeping him in place.

“Your friend Hogan, however...”

The doctor held the weapon out to his side, offering it, grip first. Hogan took it and the weapon lit up in his hand, a small blue screen on the grip just below his palm flashing on.

“...is an Eraser.” The doctor let go of His wrist, His arm dropping like dead weight. “Erasers erase people.”

Hogan faced down towards the ground, refused to meet His eyes. Could feel His golden eyes upon him, staring at his face, attempting to see through the hair obscuring his eyes, looking for any kind of emotion, an answer, anything.

_“Please.”_

Hogan shuddered at the softness of His voice, and He could see tears fall from behind his hair.

“Hogan.” The doctor demanded.

Shaking hands raised the weapon, aimed squarely at His chest.

_“What are you doing…?”_

“What he’s told.” The doctor answered for him.

_“Please don’t do this...”_ He pleaded. 

“It’s not me…” Hogan spoke through gritted teeth.

Aiming the barrel down suddenly, the pain cut through His left thigh before He even heard the crack of the gunshot. A scream was torn out of His throat, old scars ripping open once again. The unholy banshee screech seemed to cut through the air, making Hogan feel like his eardrums were being stabbed with a screwdriver. He clutched His thigh, falling to His knees, and He wailed again, having dropped all of his weight onto His injured leg. He sobbed as He rolled over to His uninjured side, screwing His eyes shut and muffling His own cries into the concrete.

Hogan held his weapon firmly, still aimed at the spot where he fired. Eyes watering, the corner of his mouth twitching as he listened to His broken sobs. His body shook, and finally he threw the weapon against the ground, metal clattering into the dirt. He clasped his hands over his ears and wailed, doubling over before falling to his hands and knees, vomiting violently in anger and pain.

“I’m--” he managed to choke out between heaves. “ sorry... I’m so fuckin’ sorry...”

On His back now, He wept openly as He listened to Hogan empty his stomach. Tears trailed down the sides of His cheeks and into His tawny hair, while His gas mask fizzled and smoked, a mix of blood and saliva disintegrating the material and dripping through the filters. Blood, more blood, golden blood began forming at his waist. 

Inorganic, soulless laughter echoed throughout the compound, a laughter completely devoid of any joy or happiness. It grew louder as He heard a shuffling noise, something approaching Him slowly. A hand palmed the side of His face, and He cried out brokenly, a nearly silent gurgle at the unwanted touch. 

Hogan was on his knees, cradling His head and pressing their foreheads together, his breath hot and smelled of acid as he whispered countless “I’m sorry’s” against the skin of His cheek. One hand cradled His head, allowing His hair to slip through his fingers, the other hand wiping away tears, blood.

Reaching up, He placed His hand against Hogan’s face, an attempt to accept his apology, to comfort him although He had been the one that been shot. Hogan pressed his face into His hand, wincing, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. His eyes widened as He realized the look of pain on Hogan’s face, snatching His hand away from his cheek, a single, golden handprint searing upon his face. 

“Hogan, when you’re done sniveling, clean him up, would you?” The doctor’s voice trailed off as he began walking away, seemingly done with his fun for the day.

“And by the way--” he stopped and turned around for a moment-- “you will be punished for this little outburst.”


End file.
